


open hand or closed fist

by darlingwendy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but like you know it's these two so it's like hurt/getting yelled at while being bandaged up, ft tsuki's blatant love for yamaguchi yelling, i got in a fight for ur honor, just a quick lil thing 4 u all, rated t for language bc i firmly believe yamaguchi curses like a sailor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingwendy/pseuds/darlingwendy
Summary: He knows he’s in for it. A not-small part of him is hoping for it. Tsukishima considers at least wiping the blood off of his knuckles, or his lips, or where he can feel it drying in his eyebrow. He doesn’t. But he considers it. He holds the phone away from his cheek and waits patiently for the ringing to give way to his third favorite sound.--tsukishima gets in a fight. yamaguchi patches him up.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 172





	open hand or closed fist

**Author's Note:**

> forever shout out to the groupchat for letting me just dump these things into the inbox at any hour of the day!!!! we talked one (1) time about tsuki getting in a fight with someone (terushima) who said something (literally anything) about yamaguchi. so i ,,,, had to write it. alskdfj first time pls give me ur notes below. enjoy!!!!!!!!

He knows he’s in for it. A not-small part of him is hoping for it. Tsukishima considers at least wiping the blood off of his knuckles, or his lips, or where he can feel it drying in his eyebrow. He doesn’t. But he considers it. He holds the phone away from his cheek and waits patiently for the ringing to give way to his third favorite sound.

“Hello?” 

He smiles. It drags the cut on his lip open. He has the decency to wince. 

“Tadashi,” he says, glancing up at the summer sunset. Yamaguchi makes Tsukishima’s second favorite sound: the hitch of breath in the back of his throat whenever Tsukishima calls him by his given name. “Can I come over?”

“Sure,” Yamaguchi says. Tsukishima can hear him shuffling around his room. Yamaguchi’s room is burned into the back of his mind. He thinks he could probably recreate it from memory, better than his own room. 

“Are your parents home?”

“Tsukki.” Yamaguchi pretends to be scandalized. “No, they just left. Date night.”

“Be there in ten.” He clicks his phone shut, shoving it in his pockets, hissing as his scraped knuckles scratch against the denim of his pocket. He starts the walk.

When he reaches Yamaguchi’s house, he tries the doorknob. Open. _Dangerous,_ he thinks, letting himself inside. He kicks off his shoes. A pain shoots through his thigh. He winces, dumps his backpack by his shoes, listens to the sound of Yamaguchi’s footsteps pattering down the stairs. He braces himself. Lets himself smile, just once, the faint hint of it, before he turns around to face Yamaguchi. 

He’s a wreck and he knows it. He’d walked away a winner, but Terushima hadn’t made it easy. The cut on his lip is bad, the bruise on his cheek is worse, he’s sure his ribs will be sore to the touch for weeks. He lifts a hand to the back of his neck, scratching at the short hair gathered by the nape of his neck. Even lifting his arm hurts. 

“Tsukishima,” Yamaguchi starts. 

“Hi, Tadashi.” 

Yamaguchi’s anger always starts in the space between his eyebrows. It furrows, crashes, signifies the coming of a storm. Tsukishima can practically hear the crackle of electricity. Yamaguchi’s eyes narrow, and his lower lip trembles, and Tsukishima knows he’s in for it. The shorter boy curls his fists by his side, and he makes Tsukishima’s favorite sound in the world.

“What the _fuck_ happened to you?” 

He hides his smile as a grimace. 

“You should see the other guy.”

“ _Other_ guy? I don’t give a shit about the _other_ guy, Kei, and neither should you!” Yamaguchi storms towards him, encircling his wrist with his perfect hand and jerking him out of the entrance hall. Tsukishima hisses and Yamaguchi grunts.

“Don’t give me that. You deserve it.” 

Tsukishima lets Yamaguchi manhandle him into a chair at the dining room table. He’s spent many evenings here, enjoying home-cooked meals as a part of the family. He’s also kissed Tadashi senseless at this table. Never at the same time. He’s thought about it, though. He watches as Yamaguchi storms around the kitchen, gathering medical supplies, absolutely _ranting_ about Tsukishima’s lack of sense, lack of self-preservation, absolute carelessness, _we have_ games _to play Kei you can’t be getting into_ fights _like some sort of criminal._ He doesn’t stop for a second, just breezes past the table, stopping long enough to slam down a glass of water and napkins, smacking Tsukishima on the head as he makes his way to the bathroom. Tsukishima follows him with his gaze. He spent a lot time _not_ looking at Tadashi. He tries not to deprive himself of that now.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Yamaguchi spits, shaking his head as he returns from the bathroom. Tsuki can see the faintest pink connecting his freckles. He doesn’t smile, but Yamaguchi can see it in his eyes all the same. “You’re so _lame,_ Tsukki.” 

Tsukishima huffs out a short laugh. Yamaguchi leans against the table, staring down at Tsukishima’s battered face. 

“What happened?” 

“I was defending your honor.” 

Yamaguchi smacks his ribs this time. He deserved that.

“Close your eyes,” Yamaguchi says, grabbing a bandage and dabbing it in hydrogen peroxide. Tsuki obeys. He lifts the cloth to the cut on Tsuki’s eyebrow, and Tsuki clenches his hands into fists in his lap. It stings. Tadashi is so close. He smells of clementines and sweat. Tsuki considers telling him the whole story, the things Terushima said, the anger that roiled through him and came out of his fist. But he really doesn’t want to talk about Terushima. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. Yamaguchi pauses, just for a breath, and leans back. Tsuki peeks open an eye, one side of his mouth lifting slightly. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Tch.” Yamaguchi shakes his head. He turns to grab a bandage and Tsukishima can see the ghost of a smile. He can’t help himself. He reaches out, hand curling around Yamaguchi’s hip. He squeezes, gentle, in the way only Tadashi knows he can be. Yamaguchi glances down at his hand, and slowly, slowly, his gaze travels up Tsukishima’s arm, his shoulder, his neck, his bruised cheek, his eyes. 

“I am,” Kei says, his thumb running across the soft cotton of Tadashi’s old and terrible and delightful shirt. Yamaguchi softens. With his free hand, he reaches up, cupping Tsukishima’s cheek. He tilts his face up, and Kei goes willingly. Always willingly, in whatever direction Yamaguchi pushed or pulled or prodded. Yamaguchi just _looks_ at him, clever eyes committing every bit of him to memory. Slowly, he leans in. Electric, again, the hot crackle of Yamaguchi’s short-lived flaring anger. Their noses brush. Kei’s mouth opens, ever so slightly, a wish on his mouth. 

“I’m not going to kiss your bloody lip,” Yamaguchi whispers. He pulls back with a laugh, and Tsukishima’s mouth falls into a smile. He might have to amend his list of his favorite sounds. Yamaguchi’s laugh is sunrise.

“Hurry up and clean it, then,” he replies. Yamaguchi pinches his cheek in retaliation. Tsuki grumbles, and Yamaguchi laughs, and every wound gets a kiss before it gets a bandage. Even his bloody lip.


End file.
